The Gauntlet by Karuna Riazi

Author:Karuna Riazi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Salaam Reads / Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JUST TWO MORE LEVELS,” Henrietta called out. “And don’t look down.”

When someone told Farah not to do something, every part of her body wanted to do it. Her hands and arms and legs buzzed and twitched with the need, and she couldn’t resist the possibility of taking a peek into an off-limits room or dipping a finger in the thariwala chicken after Ma said it wasn’t ready to have a taste or reading the thing that Baba said was grown-up business.

She craned her neck and gazed over her shoulder, and instantly regretted that decision. It was as if they were on the top of the Empire State Building in Manhattan. The world was spread out at their feet in miniature. Distantly, like ants, people strode through the alleyway and stopped to talk with one another. Carts and mobile stalls clattered by, and there was the occasional traffic jam due to the narrow corridor or a slowly plodding camel.

They climbed, and the stairs swayed left and right, a snake slithering up the side of a table. Farah’s stomach rolled, a bubble about to pop, swirling and spinning before the inevitable burst. She tried not to look down again. But she couldn’t help herself.

Henrietta caught her and pointed upward with her tail, a quiet reprimand reminding Farah to focus. “The palace dock is above us,” she called out reassuringly. “We’re nearly there!”

The rest of the lizards helped the trio step over a small gap between the stairs and the dock. Farah looked around. The Palace of Dreams had old-fashioned cage doors gilded with gold-veined leaves and songbirds. Henrietta led the way into a cool marble archway and into the mouth of the large and looming space.

“No one gets to live in it,” Henrietta explained. “It is one of the Architect’s favorites.”

“I can see why,” Essie said, breathless and already ahead of them, dashing over the slick, lantern lit floor. The group entered via a series of marbled arches into a cavernous, domed room that seemed to go on forever. There was no open roof above their heads, and when Farah craned her head back, all she could see was blue, in every shade of the hue. A cool and inviting sarovar, a blue-tiled fountain with dancing streams, lay in the center of the main hall, springs of cool water leaping from one end to the other, and peacocks on parade reached for the domed ceiling, which was painted to mimic a cloudless sky. The shimmering glass tile reminded Farah of her favorite bangles, a lovely baby blue with a healthy dousing of glitter that caught the eye. The building was fancier than the dreamiest of the palaces Farah had visited on their trip to Rajasthan, but it was marred by evidence of the Architect’s presence. Cogs and gears clanked over the melodic splash of the fountain, and in the fountain floated an endless array of jars, each in its own shade of blue, labeled in white with words Farah could not quite make out.

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